


Christmas Magic

by RockingItInAParallelUniverse



Category: Marrissey - Fandom, The Smiths
Genre: Anal Sex, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Drinking, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Lust, M/M, Pining, Prompt Fic, RPF, Snow, Their Love Is So, YouTube made me write this, more than friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21663196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockingItInAParallelUniverse/pseuds/RockingItInAParallelUniverse
Summary: Morrissey is in love with his best friend. He needs some sort of miracle to escape the friend zone. It's Christmastime, but Moz doesn't believe in Christmas magic.Johnny is determined to make his band the best in the world. He wishes his girlfriend would understand how much time and effort this takes and how important this is to him. He has no time for Christmas magic unless it involves The Smiths.
Relationships: Johnny Marr/Morrissey
Comments: 5
Kudos: 56





	1. Out of Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in December of 1983. Some details are a bit off from reality, time wise, but hey, this is fiction so... 
> 
> Inspired by watching this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2vItfNWychQ&list=PL715902A948CDED69 instead of studying.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrissey has a Christmas wish but he doesn’t believe in the magic of Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is some cheesy Marrissey for your holiday enjoyment. I'll hopefully complete this by Christmas. This is my stress release, don't judge me, pls.

I love him, Morrissey pouts into his pillow.

But it's useless and pointless and tiresome. And most horrifically, it's a cliche. He is a cliche; a lovesick waif writing his longings in lines of obscure poetry read by no one. Yet here he is, pining for his best friend, as he lays staring at his bedroom's ceiling in his flat. Last Christmas, he was still living at home with his mum. It's strange how quickly life can change. If it weren't for Johnny, he'd still be alone and adrift.

Johnny, he sighs. With his brown eyes, black hair and mystical musical ability. Johnny dragged him from the safe, fantasy world of his childhood bedroom onto a stage of lights in front of hundreds of adoring fans. The stage is a place Moz becomes someone else, someone powerful with a voice that might make a difference in this God-forsaken world. His longings are no longer obscure. He sings them to an audience populated by more lovesick cliches of loneliness and misunderstanding. Morrissey sighs again. We all want the one we can't have.

Johnny has Angie. Just like Mike has Tina and Andy has...who does Andy have at this time? Ahh, it doesn't matter. The point is Andy could have someone if he wanted. But not Morrissey. No one that he finds attractive and interesting is ever attracted or interested in him. His heart seems to choose exquisite creatures, too exquisite for a lonely, shy man with awkward limbs and sarcastic wit. Johnny is one such exquisite creature. Morrissey would have thought his heart would take the kick in the crotch he received once he realized the boy was with Angie as a signal to move on, but no. Instead, his brain also jumped on the 'Adore Johnny' train by whispering ideas that the guitarist might not be certain of his orientation. Very few musicians were openly out. It could be the end of a career. Perhaps Angie is a prop, a misdirection. And Johnny did suggest that The Smiths take on a gay image and heartily supports Moz's sexually ambiguous lyrics. Thoughts like these bounce back and forth from his brain to his heart. Then Johnny will say something that slays him. Like in September when he told Moz he should use his celebrity status and (he blushes as the younger man's words echo in his mind) fuck a fan.

"It would make his or her life," Johnny pointed out. "They'd probably have 'Moz Was Here' tattooed on their genitals."

Morrissey shudders at the prospect. That would be behaving like some kind of macho, rock-and-roller, something Moz definitely is not. He is an artist. He refuses to participate in physical intimacy without a deep, meaningful connection. He clings to his celibacy like a security blanket. Besides, the cruelty of treating another human being like a disposable sex toy is not in his nature. He isn't even certain he desires Johnny sexually. It's love he wants. That stupid fairy tale of true love. To be desired, appreciated and understood. And once again, he is back to being a cliche.

Morrissey clenches his hands into fists. He despises this time of year. Christmas magic doesn't exist. He resents the 'all of your dreams will come true' lies fed to the western world on behalf of Christmas. The cancer patient still dies on December 25. The homeless are still cold and hungry. Animals are still slaughtered and consumed. It's dreadful, really. If Moz had his way, he'd stay in his flat with the blinds drawn and lie in bed until the blasted day passes into history. But Johnny, yet again, is pulling him from his comfort zone, forcing him to attend Mike's idiotic Christmas party tonight. Perhaps he could feign a migraine. No. Johnny wouldn’t believe him. He could possibly die in a tragic train accident, but he's never that lucky. No, there appears no way out of this party so he may as well ponder what clothes he'll wear to it. He searches his wardrobe for the right garments that might catch Johnny's eye. Good god. Must the boy be in his every thought? He is utterly hopeless.


	2. Out of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one ever said becoming a world class musician is easy. There's bound to be a few casualties along the way. Johnny understands this. Angie does not.

Three unknown musicians are lounging in Johnny's sitting room. What the fuck? He usually loves the general buzz of guitars and guitar talk, but he really needs a break at the moment. Since he's been able to afford the house in Bowdon, it's become Manchester's Music Central. Struggling musicians from all walks of life seem to find it like a beacon in fog. The in-house rehearsal studio certainly doesn't hurt his popularity, either.

"Ange?" he shouts. He wants to show his girlfriend the film from last week's Smiths concert in Derby.

Angie materializes on the stairway. She's carrying two suitcases.

"You leaving me, babe?" he halfway jokes. He's not used to seeing her without a smile on her face.

"I'm going to spend some time with my sister," she softly says with a detached expression.

"Aren't you slightly overpacked for an across town visit?" he questions, still not realizing the gravity of the situation.

"We're going to Greece for two weeks." She does not look at him, her eyes are focused on a distant point somewhere over his shoulder.

Johnny stops and does some quick addition in his head. "You'll be gone over Christmas."

Angie sets her suitcases down and motions for Johnny to join her on the stairs. "Someone used my make-up mirror for lines of coke. There's some unidentified putrid liquid in a bowl in our sink. I don't know half of the people who just show up here looking for you and we never have any time alone. And then there’s all the touring. I said I'd support you no matter what, but I'd never envisioned this," she says, waving her hand toward the screeching guitar feedback emanating from the sitting room.

"Yeah, I know," Johnny says, half-heartedly. "I'll see what I can do."

"I've left my itinerary by the phone in the kitchen. If you want to spend Christmas with me, come to Greece," she says still not looking at him, tossing her long, brunette hair over her shoulder for added emphasis.

"Shit, Angie. We're playing in London next week. Then there’s the trip to the states for New Year’s. We’ve a lot of business to tend to with the band," he pulls at his black hair. He really doesn't need this complication in his life right now. Why can't she understand this?

"Or don't come to Greece. The choice is yours." She stomps through the hallway toward the front door.

"At least let me take you to the train station," he offers, trying to find some solid middle ground in the quagmire of this relationship.

"I've called a cab. I didn't want to drag my baggage on the train." She brushes her lips against his and is out the door. 

Johnny knows he's just been issued an ultimatum but he has no time or desire to seriously contemplate it. He strides to the sitting room and bangs on the wall. "If it's not too much of a problem, kindly get the fuck out of my house. Now isn't a good time to be here,” he says.

The three guitarists look up, surprised to see the owner of said house.

"Aw man. We just wanted to jam with Johnny Fuckin' Marr," a bearded fellow complains.

"Johnny Fuckin' Marr isn't jamming today, so fuck off."

They realize he means what he says and reluctantly pack up their equipment and leave. His house is quiet. Peace at last. He sits on his sofa, has a smoke and assembles his film projector. The concert footage is on 8mm. He hopes the sound isn't too janky. He flinches watching himself on film. The camera does him no favors. This haircut seems to lengthen his face and make him look even girlier than usual. Johnny's ok with looking feminine. Any challenge to the traditional male guitarist image is exactly the point he is trying to make.

The camera zooms in on his lead singer and best friend. Johnny is in awe watching a confident, playful Morrissey own the stage. He brings an ethereal quality to the band. Andy and Mike look every bit of their working class background. Johnny adds a certain energy to the performance and an interesting juxtaposition to Morrissey's tall, gangly presence. He is a small, spare guitarist next to a larger-than-life front man. The camera loves Moz. He is attractive from every angle. Christ. He's actually flirting into it during a close up. He is so different on stage from the man he was just six months ago. Over the summer, he had difficulty keeping his eyes open and engaging the crowd. But now, under the lights, he is absolutely captivating. Johnny's been along every step of the way as these songs came into existence, yet to watch Mozzer sing them in concert, it's as if he's hearing the words for the first time and Morrissey is singing just for him.

That seals it. Johnny's bringing the projector to Mike's party tonight. He can't wait to watch his best friend's expression when he sees this. The sense of pride he feels for Morrissey and the entire band is almost overwhelming. Johnny stops the film and runs up the stairs to shower and dress for the party. He hums "Hand In Glove" as he carefully selects his outfit. He throws himself into achieving just the right look. It keeps the Angie situation stuffed into a closet in a corner of his mind with all his other skeletons of conflict. For this outing, he chooses black trousers and braces, a cream-colored button down with tiny poinsettias printed on it, his black beret and moccasins. He'll top off the whole ensemble with black eyeliner and his trusty leather jacket. Johnny is especially proud of his poinsettia shirt. It was a great find at the second-hand shop and one more instance where he is thankful for his slight build as it is a lady's blouse. He feels properly festive as he lugs the film projector out the door, keys in hand, ready to pick up Morrissey at his flat. He doesn't notice the envelope with his name in Angie's handwriting wedged behind the phone on the wall as he slams and locks the door to his house.


	3. The Christmas Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party, punch and possibilities.

"Must we actually attend this event?" Morrissey whines as soon as Johnny arrives at his door.

"It's a Christmas party, not systematic torture. Besides, you like Andy and Mike, yeah?"

"I suppose." He pulls on his long, tweed coat over a purple striped button down shirt and his standard baggy jeans. It may as well be systematic torture, he thinks as he follows the love of his life out the door and down the stairs. 

“I love your beret,” he gushes. He wonders for the fortieth time today if he is too obvious with his admiration. Then he freezes in his tracks. 

"Has Angie abandoned you tonight?" Morrissey asks, surprised at the petite brunette's absence from the passenger seat of Johnny's car.

Johnny shrugs, stomping out his cigarette before sliding behind the wheel. "She and her sister went to Greece."

Morrissey nibbles on his lip. He ate supper with the couple yesterday. He doesn't recall any mention of a trip. Sneaking a peak at Johnny, he decides to remain silent on the subject. His usually happy and talkative friend is wearing a stoic expression. Moz feels a twinge of guilt as a flicker of hope flutters in his chest at the thought of trouble brewing between the two.

"Grant gave me the film of last week's concert. I've brought it and the projector along. Should be very entertaining to watch," Johnny smiles, happy to steer the subject away from his girlfriend's sudden holiday.

"Oh god. Is it the one where I was struck in the eye? I never dreamed that the crowd could weaponize flowers. The betrayal of nature's beauty still stings," Mozzer recalls. Next concert he will wear his glasses, vanity be damned.

"I forgot about that. At least you recovered quickly."

"Because you held the band together. There you were stood, fingers flying on the fretboard, playing a lovely instrumental of 'Miserable Lie' while I was offstage unfurling my contact knocked askew by a rogue gladiola petal." He cannot keep the fondness out of his voice.

"I was hoping it was nothing serious. You had me worried. But when Levi came onstage and reset the microphone he let me know you were alright."

The short drive to Mike's flat is almost complete. Morrissey feels warm inside. The love and support from his bandmates is still surprising. He wonders if all the clandestine looks and desire to be close to Johnny on stage will be apparent on film. He dearly hopes not. His hand is firmly clenched on his own thigh right now keeping his traitorous fingers in check from finding some way to touch his beloved guitarist.

Johnny temporarily blocked the memory of Morrissey dropping his tambourine and racing offstage. Instinct had taken over. The musician in him knew the song must finish whilst all the rest of him wanted to charge off behind Mozzer making sure the older man wasn't injured. He feels oddly responsible for Morrissey's welfare on stage, fully aware that he wouldn't be up there if it weren't for Johnny.

"Could you grab my guitar from the backseat, Moz. I'll have my hands full with the projector."

"Wow. I am honored to be entrusted with your instrument. I know you won't allow just anyone to touch it," Morrissey jibes then suddenly blushes as he considers the perversion of his words.

"You know how particular I am about who touches my instrument," Johnny laughs, immediately picking up on the double entendre.

Morrissey doesn't think he could love the boy any more. Johnny appreciates his skewed sense of humor and random awkward interjections where others act shocked or offended. Maybe tonight won't be such an ordeal if he can keep Johnny at his side.

"Here comes the entertainment!" Mike shouts into his flat as he holds the door open for Moz and Johnny.

"Where is Angie tonight?" Tina asks, taking their coats once the two men have situated the projector and guitar case.

Morrissey does not miss the shadow crossing Johnny's face. "She's spending quality time with her sister," Johnny says, busying himself with the film projector.

"Oh, that's too bad. I was hoping for another female to rant about life with."

It's crowded in the small flat. Besides the four Smiths and Tina, there are various others connected to the band, like guitar techs, sound engineers, and stage hands from some of the local venues. Morrissey lets out a sigh.

"Moz needs a drink," Johnny shouts to no one in particular. He stops with the projector assembly to wrap his arm around the singer. "I know what that sigh means, you know."

Morrissey's mouth goes suddenly dry. "And that is?" he manages to ask even though most of his brain cells are focusing on Johnny's arm around his waist.

"You need to stop worrying about the number of people here. Everyone loves you. Relax." Johnny hopes his words are comforting to his friend. He hates to see Mozzer isolated and out of sorts.

Andy appears with a pint glass filled with green liquid for Morrissey and a beer for Johnny.

"What's this?" Moz asks, eyeing the glass with suspicion.

"Just some punch. I didn't think you were fond of beer." Andy turns to Johnny. "We're all heading out to the garden for a smoke," he says with a wink at the guitarist.

"Give me a second," Johnny answers. "I need to finish this. I've got film from the Derby concert!"

Andy nods and walks toward the back of the flat.

"You don't have to smoke to come join us in the garden," Johnny says as he finishes with the projector assembly.

"I believe Andy indicated that you weren't going out there to smoke cigarettes."

"A joint might do you good, Mozzer. I'd pay good money to see you stoned!"

"That's not going to happen. Run along, Johnny. Go join the rest of the delinquents. Someone has to remain dignified."

"But that's no fun," Johnny says, already heading for the garden. A blunt is exactly what he needs tonight. Mozzer really should give over to pot. If anyone needs a respite from a troubled mind, it's him.

After downing another glass of punch, Morrissey attempts to make himself comfortable on the sofa. It's an impossible task. He gets up and wanders about the flat. That's a different take on holiday decor, he thinks upon seeing a crucifix hanging on the wall wrapped in Christmas lights. He passes a brightly decorated spruce and meanders to the punch bowl in the kitchen. 

It's amazingly good punch. Sweet and soothing. Kind of like Johnny. He holds his glass up to the light fixture over the table, smiling at the thought of bottling Johnny's essence to drink whenever he wished. After five or six (he's lost count) more glasses of punch, Morrissey finds himself in the sitting room once again. He decides to start the film. His eyes glaze over at the sight of himself singing and waving flowers above his head. He does like the hand gestures he uses to accentuate his lyrics. There is something vaguely Shakespearian about them.

But, look, what's this? It's Johnny, nodding and smiling as he plays. Morrissey sits down and studies the boy closely. If only the bloody cameraman would stop focusing on me, he thinks angrily. He forgets to blink as he watches how often Johnny looks his way and smiles. Dear god. How did he miss this during the actual concert?

"Hey. We're s'pose to watch it together!" Johnny slurs as he and Mike and Andy enter the room.

"I was bored."

"Told you you should have come out with us," Johnny asserts, taking a seat next to his best friend.

Moz inhales the earthy scent of the pot plus the citrusy smell that is uniquely Johnny. He idly wonders what kind of shampoo the boy uses.

"Mike, you've got to give me the recipe for your punch. It's simply divine," Morrissey says, fixing his blue eyes on the slightly shorter drummer.

"Good luck with that," Andy interrupts.

"Sorry, Moz. I'm not giving away my secret ingredient list."

"Shhhhh. I'm starting the film over. Watch us!" Johnny demands everyone's silence.

"Where’d everyone go?" Moz asks, realizing it's just the four of them.

"Shhhh. They left. Now watch!"

Each band member is critical of himself. Moz gets a round of applause when he's seen back on the stage after the floral attack.

"Damn, we are TIGHT!" Mike exclaims.

"Yeah. The crowd went fucking nuts over us here and at Trinity," Andy adds.

"This is it, boys. We are on our way to the big time," Johnny says staring at Morrissey. "Can we give 'Barbarism' a go in London?" he asks the singer.

"Oh hell, yes. Let's do it! That's the best bass line I've ever written!" Andy adds.

"We'll need to rehearse then," Moz says, leaning back into the sofa with his eyes closed.

Johnny feels electrified. The sky is the fucking limit for this band. He looks at Morrissey. The man is shabby elegance even when he is passed out. He can hardly contain his excitement. 1984 is going to be their year. All their wildest dreams will come true. Johnny will see to it and he knows Mozzer will be at his side. He loves the older man's dedication and desire to make this all work despite being deeply introverted.

The guitarist wonders what Mozzer thought of seeing himself strut across that stage on film. Johnny used to have to urge him to interact with the audience but now, well now the audience falls at his feet. The stage invasions are insane. And Moz loves it. Johnny looks around the sitting room. Mike is nowhere to be seen and Andy is passed out on the floor.

"Mozzer, pssst," he says, gently shaking the singer. "Let's get out of here. It's time to go home."

"Hmmph, what?" Morrissey jerks awake, eyes wild trying to figure out exactly where he is.

"Come on," Johnny is pulling him to his feet.

"Where's Mike? Shouldn't we say goodnight?"

"Everyone's asleep."

"Oh. Alright then. What about your guitar?"

"Oh wow. Thanks, Mozzer," Johnny can't believe he nearly forgot his guitar. Maybe he's more fucked-up than he realized. 

"What about the film stuff?"

"I'll get it another day. Let's just go."

Morrissey nods and finds his coat. They stumble to Johnny's car.

Once behind the wheel, he knows without a doubt that he is indeed majorly fucked-up. "Can I stay over, Mozzer?"

"Of course. Why do you want to?" Morrissey thought it seemed like a logical question until he actually said it out loud.

"I don't think I'm in any shape to drive."

"So there's a chance you might kill us?"

"Yeah, but don't get your hopes up, Misery Guts."

Moz smiles at Johnny. "You know me so well."

Once back at Morrissey's flat, the two musicians make their weary way up the stairs.

"I can't walk, Johnny," Moz says, taking a seat on a step.

"What the hell did Mike put in that punch?"

"I don’t think it was ginger ale.”

"No shit. Crawl if you have to, but let's make it up to your room."

Morrissey begins the climb upstairs on his hands and knees.

Johnny sniggers watching the lanky singer crawl but then he misjudges the height of a step. "Oh shit!” he yells as he falls forward. He reaches out for anything to break his inevitable impact with the hardwood. His hands land precisely on Moz's arse.

For a moment, the breath leaves Johnny's body as his hands dig for purchase. He is stunned at the firm lushness of his friend's backside. Who knew this is what lies underneath those saggy trousers? He pictured skin and bones, if he'd pictured anything at all. But his hands grope muscle and flesh.

Morrissey stops all forward movement. Why is Johnny grabbing his bum? Because he's definitely grabbing it. And squeezing. His hands have been there too long for this to be an accidental collision. It's an enjoyable sensation. But somebody's got to say something. Don't they?

"Sorry 'bout that," Johnny mutters behind him. "I fell."

"So I felt."

Now both men are crawling up the stairs. "You wanna sleep on the floor or in the bed?" Morrissey asks.

"The bed. Your floor is like fucking ice."

Somewhere in the realm of rational thought, Morrissey knows this is a bad idea. The two of them sharing a bed is a very bad idea. But for the life of him, Mozzer can't put his finger on why. "You gonna sleep in your clothes or do you wanna borrow some pyjamas?"

"Can I borrow a shirt? Your pyjamas would fall off me."

The visual of Johnny wearing Morrissey's pyjamas and then falling out of them drives home the reason sharing a bed is a very bad idea.

"Here's a shirt. I'll change in the bathroom," he says, quickly throwing a random t-shirt in Johnny's direction as he makes a break for the loo. Shit. What's he gonna do now? He's drunk. This is a good thing. Slowed reflexes and all that. And Johnny's messed-up, too. They're both on the verge of passing out. It will be alright. Don't think. Just sleep. It's a big bed and Johnny is small. Plenty of room to sleep and never bump into each other. He brushes his teeth and splashes water on his face. Chin up, soldier, he tells himself, as he opens the door, prepared to do battle with his mostly non-existent libido.

"I need to, uh, freshen up." Johnny is face-to-face, well actually, face-to-chest with Morrissey. He feels ridiculous in Moz's Sex Pistols t-shirt. It’s practically a dress with only the very edge of his boxers showing. But he really doesn't want to drive back to his empty house tonight. "Pick your side of the bed. I'll be in in a minute."

Thankfully, Johnny shut the door before he had a chance to see Moz's face blush crimson. He takes the side of the bed nestled against the wall. It's more secure plus Johnny won't have to crawl over top of him to get to his side. Morrissey conjures up the warm feeling he had at the Christmas party. Close your eyes. Sleep. He ignores the sound of the bathroom door opening. He refuses to acknowledge the creak of the bed springs and sudden feeling of extra warmth as Johnny slides under the covers next to him. 

Johnny's last thoughts before falling into a blissful slumber are how adorable Moz looks with only the top of his quiff poking out from under his duvet and that the man has an astonishing arse.


	4. All I Want For Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreaming, longing, angst and snow.

"What is that noise?" Morrissey wonders as he rolls over in bed. 

He receives an answer immediately when his nose brushes the soft cotton of the shirt he lent to Johnny last night. Moz's eyes snap open. He's staring at the boy's back. Johnny's curled in a fetal position and a ragged snore escapes his open mouth. Morrissey's heart melts into a gooey puddle as he takes in the sight of the younger man wearing his shirt, snuggled in the comfort of his bed. He looks so young, almost angelic in the glow of the dawn's soft light. 

Moz doesn't want to move, doesn't want to chance waking the beautiful creature lying next to him. He needs to stare, to memorize the texture of his black hair, the alabaster skin and pink lips. Even the throaty growl of his snoring. This may be the only time he'll ever wake up next to Johnny. He permanently etches a picture of this moment in his memories, a moment frozen in time to rely on during the almost certain loneliness he'll face in the future.

Johnny stretches and rolls to his back. He doesn't want to open his eyes yet. He was in the midst of a lovely dream but he's lost the details of it in the murky space between the subconscious and the waking world. Perhaps if he lays here long enough, the dream will restart and he'll again be enveloped into that warm, pleasant mist of fantasy. 

As the smoke clears in his mind, he sees Morrissey on stage in a large concert hall. He's singing and whirling around in crazy arcs, in and out of the speakers and wires and remnants of gladiola strewn on the floor. Johnny looks down and sees his Rickenbacker guitar. This isn't surprising. When he looks to his right, his eyes connect with Morrissey's. This also isn't surprising. It happens all the time during gigs. They see each other, smile and quickly look elsewhere. But not in this moment. In this moment they are locked on each other. Moz sways closer, singing just to Johnny:

"Oh, the alcoholic afternoons when we sat in your room, they meant more to me than any living thing on earth..."

And Johnny leans forward straining to get as close to Mozzer as space allows. The tall singer licks his lips and closes the remaining distance between them and tenderly kisses Johnny on the mouth. 

Morrissey sits back in the bed. Johnny is stirring. The lad has rolled onto his back and is groaning in his sleep. The sound is almost sexual in nature. Moz's brain and heart have definitely interpreted it as sexual. And now his groin is joining the party. His hand has a mind of its own. It must because it's hovering just above the boy's forehead, as if to caress his face. And then Johnny moans something impossible.

"Oh....Mozzer."

The singer's jaw drops as his stomach tightens and his blood rushes south. He's not imagining things. Johnny Marr is dreaming about him. Oh god. His libido awakens from hibernation and demands attention. And Morrissey does the only thing he possibly can in such a situation. He springs from the bed and hides in his bathroom. 

Johnny awakens with a start. The first thing he notices is his erection. Good god, it's like he's thirteen all over again. He stretches lazily until he realizes where he is. At Morrissey's house, in Morrissey's bed. Shit. He sits up, places a pillow over his lap and finds Moz noticeably absent from the scene. Thank god. The man might be scarred for life if he saw Johnny in such a state.

Memories from last night gradually seep into his thoughts. Namely memories of Mozzer's firm arse. And a dream involving the two of them. Kissing. And doing other things. To each other. Things that felt pretty damn good. Shit. Shit. Shit. What the hell was in that punch last night? Maybe the beer/punch/pot combination wasn't such a brilliant idea. He can hear the shower running. To spare both of them any awkwardness or explanations, Johnny dresses quickly and leaves a note for Morrissey downstairs. He cannot deal with this right now.

Thanks for letting me crash here last night. Gone home. Will see you tomorrow at rehearsal. JM

******

Johnny gingerly sips at the steaming mug of tea in the comfort of his own kitchen. He should be feeling more like himself now that he's back home, showered and dressed in fresh clothes. But he can't stop thinking about his dream. The memories are stupidly stubborn, refusing to vanish back into the dark entrails of his subconscious. Bloody hell. He's having erotic dreams about Morrissey. As if his life isn't complicated enough. He pinches the bridge of his nose. He's not into blokes. Especially not Mozzer. Last night was probably the result of too many different substances, stress and what not. Nothing to worry about. Just a weird, stupid dream.

He fingers the envelope Angie left for him. Might as well deal with one dilemma whilst he stuffs his convoluted feelings about his best friend into his mental closet of conflict. For fucks sake, he's just turned 20. He's still trying to figure himself out, apparently.

He lights a cigarette and expertly smokes it without removing it from his mouth. He has an enormous sense of pride in this skill. It gives him a feeling of power and control. He deftly uses the letter opener and unfolds a typed itinerary. A handwritten note and an airline ticket float slowly to the table. That can't be good. The cigarette falls from his lips and fizzles as it lands in his tea when he reads Angie's message.

******

Morrissey's annoyance is tripling by the minute. Whomever is beating on his front door is a persistent wanker. It's got to be press or some over-the-top fan stalking him. Johnny never comes over without calling first. His note said they'd see each other tomorrow. He sighs at the thought of the guitarist and how quickly he left this morning. He's probably just as distraught over having his dream as Moz is from overhearing it. Well distraught in a different way, of course. Maybe even horrified. If he remembers his dream. He might not. Not everyone does.

"Alright already!" he yells. The knocking disrupts his mental rambling. He jerks the needle from his T-Rex album. Enough is enough. He carries the Dostoyevsky novel he was reading with him to the door, certain he can render an intruder unconscious with the likes of 'The Brothers Karamazov'.

"Johnny!" he is astonished at the sight of the boy on his doorstep.

"I need to talk to you, Moz. I don't know what to do." Johnny keeps his eyes on Morrissey's socked feet. He's suddenly self-conscious of the taller man. His car seemed to drive itself over here. Moz is always the first person he comes to when he has a problem, but he might not be the best one to discuss this particular problem.

Morrissey invites him into his kitchen. He leaves his novel on a side table and runs his fingers through his quiff. Is this about last night? Did he, too, moan something in his sleep? Is the lad going to confront him? He feels a dreadful sense of impending doom.

“Would you like some tea?” he offers. Johnny looks wrecked.

“Yeah. Sure.” Johnny takes a seat at the kitchen table. He has yet to make eye contact with Morrissey.

Once the kettle is on, Moz sits down across from the boy. “So what’s this about?” he cautiously asks.

"Here. Take a look and tell me what you think," he says, handing Angie's note to his best mate.

Morrissey's blue eyes narrow as he reads the neatly printed missive: 

Johnny, I need some time away to do a bit of soul searching. I'm struggling with the direction our relationship has taken. I thought I could be selfless. I thought love to be the most important thing in life. Now I'm not so sure. I need something more. I need to feel cherished. I want to be valued by you. Is that terribly selfish of me? I'm enclosing an airline ticket to Greece departing the day after the London concert from Heathrow. We can return together on January 2 after some much needed time by ourselves. If you truly love me and value our relationship, I'll see you next week. If other things in your life are more important than us, I'll see you sometime. Love always, Angie

"Oh my god." Fear, hope and nausea all rumble and twist inside Morrissey.

"Yeah," Johnny responds. He's kicked back in the chair, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

Morrissey has no idea what to say. It's not that he hates Angie. She's a perfectly nice human and she shares Moz's taste in men. But this seems exceptionally cruel. 

He wants Johnny to stay here, to prioritize him (well, the band) over this ill-timed trip. If he joins Angie in Greece, he won't be flying to the states to meet with the American record label. They are supposed to sign a deal to release their music in the US. Moz cannot make that trip without him. He tends to clam up or lose his temper with music executives. Not to mention the fact that he really hates to fly. The Smiths could be dead in the water if Johnny cancels.

And then what if Angie wants him to completely quit the band? What if she convinces him to change the direction of their lives? He might not see Johnny again. He certainly wouldn't see him as often. His own future could be over before it really began. Panic tightens its hold on Moz's heart.

"I'm in a real bind, Mozzer. Me and Angie have been together for almost 5 years. I thought it would be forever. But we're, the band, you know, us, we're so fucking close to really making it. This is just the beginning for The Smiths. It's everything I've ever dreamed about since I was a little boy. How can she do this to me, Moz? How am I supposed to choose?"

"I don't know, Johnny. I can't tell you." Morrissey wonders why the sound of his heart breaking isn't loud enough to interrupt this conversation. He tries to put himself in Angie's place. Would he force Johnny to put his hopes and dreams aside for time spent together? He hopes not. He might try and he might pout or be unhappy, but how could he find any joy at Johnny's expense? He'd only find guilt and fear that Johnny would hate him for it.

"Am I a selfish twat for wanting it all?"

"I don't think you're selfish. If anything, you are the most giving person I know."

"I mean this hit me from out of the blue. I didn't think I was neglecting her. She's been along for everything. Everything, Mozzer!”

Morrissey walks back to the kitchen to fetch the tea. "In the year and a half I've known you, I've never seen you put less than 100 percent effort into anything you do. Including your relationships." That's a big part of what makes him wonderful. To Morrissey, at least.

“Maybe I've taken her for granted and didn't even realize it." Johnny knows Moz can't answer. But he's his best mate. Sometimes Johnny thinks Morrissey knows and understands him better than Johnny does himself.

“All I know is that I would still be in my bedroom waiting for my life to start if you hadn’t found me. You’ve taught me so much. And you’re nearly 5 years my junior! I look to you to see how I should act. I look to you to find a better version of me. I can't give you an unbiased opinion on this. I'm sorry.” Morrissey is almost ashamed to admit this.

Johnny’s brown eyes search the taller man's face. His blue eyes are troubled with pain. The guitarist hates that he's responsible for putting it there. He and Moz are like yin and yang, forever entwined. How can they possibly be separated? And where does Angie fit in this picture? 

With a sudden stabbing pain, he envisions himself in Morrissey's shoes. How helpless he would be if the singer needed to choose between band obligations and a loving partner. He cannot imagine Moz loving anything more than writing, singing and performing with him (and Andy and Mike, of course). How could anyone who truly loved the man expect him to choose one or the other? Johnny feels the weight of the world settle onto his shoulders.

“Thanks for listening to me. I just needed to talk to someone. I didn't know who else could possibly understand.” It's too late to take back the pain he has caused them both. He needs to handle this on his own. He cannot expect Morrissey to help. Not when his own future is at stake.

“Just please do what’s best for you. Your peace of mind is the most important thing here,” Morrissey says looking out the window, trying to swallow his emotions. “Oh!”

The tone of surprise makes Johnny look up. ” What is it?”

“It’s snowing! Quite heavily.” Of course it is. He hates this time of year. He can't help but blame the Christmas season for Angie's actions.

Johnny steps beside his friend at the window. In the span of his visit, the world has changed. What was brown and dead is now dusted with white. “Would you look at that! My gran would say it’s Christmas snow,” he feels a small inkling of hope.

“But it’s not Christmas.” Yet. The sooner the bloody holiday arrives, the sooner it will be behind them.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s December. Anytime it snows in December is Christmas snow.”

“What’s so special about that?” He looks at Johnny, hearing the wonder in the young man's voice.

“You make a wish and if the snow sticks through tomorrow, your wish is granted.”

“Really? Perhaps we should wish for world peace,” Moz says sarcastically, secretly wishing such a thing actually existed.

“You can if you want to. But don’t hold your breath." Johnny gently rubs Morrissey's back, "It wouldn't hurt you to at least pretend to believe, you know," he softly huffs as he continues to stroke his friend's back and shoulders. Morrissey will be Morrissey, after all. And there is something comforting and reassuring about that.

Moz is warmed by Johnny’s touch. All he wants for Christmas is right here beside him. What could it hurt, believing in a Christmas myth? He closes his eyes and makes a wish.

Johnny glances at Moz. His eyes are closed and he wears an expression of deep concentration. The guitarist is determined to give those he loves a happy Christmas this year. He makes his wish with his eyes wide open.


	5. London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anticipation is making me late, is keeping me waiting   
>  \- Carly Simon

The snow squeaks under Morrissey's feet while he walks from the bus stop to Johnny's home for rehearsal. It's still here. The snow. Does that mean he'll walk into the house and Johnny will throw himself into Moz's open arms and they'll live happily ever after? Isn't that how fairy tales work? But life is usually a shit show. Nothing is ever easy or simple. And the worst part is Morissey knows he is the reason for that. He can't help but make things difficult and complicated. He’d probably freak out and run if Johnny did throw himself at him.

As he shakes the snow off his shoes in the vestibule of the old Victorian, the sounds of 'Barbarism Begins at Home' greet him.

"Warming up without me?" he questions when he enters the rehearsal room.

The band stops playing. Johnny clasps Mozzer on the shoulder. "We're all just really into this song. It's funky and miserable. The best of both worlds!" he says with a smile. This is his favorite time of day, making music with his friends. The melodies he plays, the riffs and hooks, he can shape them in any direction, bend them to his will. If only he could apply this talent to his girlfriend. But he doesn't want to dwell on that now. He keeps a positive pep talk in his mind, refusing to let fear or doubt creep in and destroy his mood.

Morrissey melts at the sight of the guitarist's smile. How can either of them live without this? He takes off his coat as Johnny resumes the jam session. He warms up his voice and tries to think positive. Tries and fails. "Barbarism' may be more doom-laden than usual. He's still playing with the words. He'll just sing what comes to mind. Most likely something dismal.

Johnny plays an angry guitar. It shrieks and chimes and howls. This is such a release, these free-form rehearsals. It's better than liquor or any drug. All of the chaos in his body flows out through his music. Moz is wailing, "A crack on the head is what you get for asking!" Now he's moaning into the microphone with his eyes closed. Christ, the man is beautiful. He looks like he belongs in an old black and white movie. Just classically handsome.

Johnny catches Andy's attention as they strum muted strings. Andy and Mike take over the song with a funky bass line beat. Johnny unstraps his guitar. He shuffles and dances around Morrissey, performing a weird version of the twist. Moz stops his moaning and stares for a moment. Then he joins Johnny in their dance.

They rotate around each other, swinging their hips, arms flailing. Johnny leans into Morrissey, bending his body so that he is eye level with the man's waist. He can hear Moz's breathy gasp. He rotates around so that his backside is just about pressed against the singer's front. He's not sure why he's acting this way. He should be more focused on what he'll say to Angie tonight on the phone. He needs to be super persuasive.

Moz circles him, pointing and smiling a toothy grin. That smile could melt the snow outside. It certainly warms Johnny to his core. It would be nice if Mozzer would touch him during this dance. Whoa. Where the hell did that thought come from? Andy stops playing and Mike finishes with a definitive beat.

"You two need to do that live!" Andy chuckles, picking a few notes on his bass.

"Yeah. Oh my god that was so funny!" Mike joins in.

Morrissey is flushed and out of breath. What just happened? Was Johnny coming on to him? Does this mean he broke up with Angie? And if he did, what does he want? He couldn't possibly be interested in... but he did say his name in his sleep. Moz wipes his face with his sleeve. He smiles like an idiot at Andy because the blonde is the only non-threatening object in his line of vision right now.

"What do you think, Mozzer? You wanna dance tomorrow night?" Johnny flirts with a cocked eyebrow. Shit. What is he doing? Why is he teasing his friend? But he can't tear his eyes from the blushing face of the blue-eyed man.

After a couple of false starts, Morrissey manages to snort his reply, "I always dance in concert." He doesn't think his heart can handle this. It's too much anticipation. Too much uncertainty. If he were to follow Johnny's lead like he usually does, he would end up crossing a line. A very important line. Between friendship and more than friendship. It scares the shit out of him.

Johnny will call Angie tonight. He'll tell her that what she's asking of him is like choosing which arm he wants amputated. Surely they can work out a compromise. They must. Because he's made up his mind which limb to sever if they don't.

******

The band is quietly packing their equipment and helping their two loyal roadies load the van. It's too early for conversation. At least it is for Johnny. Last night's phone call was more difficult than he had anticipated. But now it's done. He's lost an important part of his youth. Funny that he's not more upset. Maybe he's in shock and the pain will set in later. Or perhaps their relationship had run its course. He and Angie parted cordially, well as cordially as a telephone break-up conversation can be. They don't hate each other's guts anyway. She didn't seem all that surprised, either.

"Everything alright?" Morrissey asks his unusually quiet guitarist.

"It will be, Mozzer," Johnny says, closing the back of the van. The singer's lips are especially red this morning. Must be the lighting. And they really are nicely shaped. For a bloke's lips. This is a guess, because Johnny certainly hasn't studied a lot of bloke's lips.

Johnny is staring at his mouth. Does he have food on his face? He only ate some toast. They usually eat something more substantial at the first petrol stop of the day once they're on the road. Morrissey licks his lips. Several times. Oh good. He must have removed whatever was causing the boy to stare because he's looking at the van now. "Please let me know if I can do anything or if you need to talk. You seem a bit down," Moz says with his hand on Johnny's arm.

"Morrissey?" Johnny asks, unsure of where the conversation might lead.

The singer looks at Johnny, expectantly.

"Can I borrow a string of beads?" he says pointing at his friend's chest. "Might jazz up this jumper." He has no idea what he wants to say, but that wasn't it.

"Of course." Morrissey takes a long strand from around his neck and moves behind Johnny. The necklace is long on him, but it would hang nearly to the boy's navel. That will never do. It would interfere with his guitar. So Moz carefully lifts the back of Johnny's hair and coils the beads around the collar of his jumper.

A chill runs down Johnny's neck as Mozzer's fingers brush his skin. "Thanks, mate!" he says probably a little too loud. “Um, I have an announcement,” Johnny continues. Might as well get this over with. “Angie and I broke up last night. Just thought I’d let everyone know since she’s been a big part of the band and all...” his voice trails off.

Johnny is surrounded by his bandmates and given pats of condolence and many murmured 'sorries'. It's strange that talking about his break-up with Angie is easier than talking with Mozzer right now. 

The van ride to London is quiet. Damn. Johnny didn’t mean to bring everyone down. He can feel Mozza’s stare.

Morrissey scribbles in his notebook. Then he nudges Johnny. The small man looks at it questioningly. Moz shakes the notebook again. Some things are better said in writing.

Johnny opens the notebook.

For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.

Johnny takes a pencil and scribbles his reply. He hands the notebook back to Moz with a reassuring smile.

It’s worth a lot. Thank you. She wanted more than I could give. Rock star life isn’t for everyone.

******

The London crowd is sensational. They're screaming out the names of the songs they want to hear. And they sing right along with him. Morrissey never thought he’d see the day when his words would be sung back to him by adoring fans. He holds out the microphone to amplify their voices during ‘Hand In Glove’. He feels giddy when he announces the band will perform a brand new song. Mike counts them in and Johnny and Andy launch into ‘Barbarism Begins at Home’. Morrissey still hasn’t found quite the right words. But the fans don't seem to care.

Johnny moves behind Morrissey as he sings “I am the man you need to keep you in place.” This is very different from the words Moz sang yesterday. But very true. The tall, thin singer has such a sexy stage presence. Johnny looks at Andy and smiles at Mike. They know what’s about to happen. Johnny does one final riff and unstraps his guitar as the rhythm section takes over. 

Morrissey wails into the microphone one more time before turning his attention to Johnny. They dance, a strange mixture of disco pointing and gyrating hips. Johnny spins before him, tossing his hair, a grin on his impish face. Moz sticks his tongue out as he, too spins, lavishly licking his lips when he faces Johnny. This is his sad attempt at seduction. They are only 3 songs into their set.

Jesus Christ. Johnny can't believe he's got a hard-on on stage! Thank God he has his cardigan tied around his waist. Moz and his evil tongue. He shudders picturing said tongue helping him out with his little problem. No. Bad move. Shit. He picks up his guitar and continues the gig like nothing is different. But everything is different. He's free. He can act on his desires. Shit. He needs to stop thinking like that. He'll never make it through the set without jumping Moz if he doesn't. 

******

Morrissey follows Andy offstage. Johnny is behind him. The show was a huge success.

"Man, you were on fire tonight! Your tone was spot on!" Andy praises the guitarist.

"For real, man. You were electric," Mike smacks him on the back.

Johnny knows the guys are just trying to pump him up because of the break-up and it works. He feels fucking awesome. Only Moz is silent. He's leaning forward in a chair with his head in his hands.

"You alright, mate?" Johnny asks."Your voice was fucking fantastic tonight."

"Thanks, Johnny. I'm just tired. That was quite the performance." He's feeling edgy, like he could jump out of his skin. It's unnerving. He's been infatuated with Johnny ever since he met the boy. But now there is a chance that his feelings might be returned. And he is a nervous wreck. He just knows he'll make a mess of this. "Please excuse me," Moz says as he walks to the bathroom and eagerly locks himself in. It seems he enjoys hiding in the loo. He paces. He coughs. What’s he supposed to do now? He has no experience with relationships. Zero. He still isn't 100 percent positive Johnny is interested in him romantically. It's not like the boy can control his dreams. He might not even remember them! He's chosen the band over Angie. The band. Not him. He needs to remind himself of this.

“Moz? Can I come in? I need to take a piss,” Johnny shouts as he knocks on the bathroom door.

He sighs. There is no escape from the lad. He opens the door a crack.“I’ll get out of your way,” he mumbles.

“Stop! Look at me, please.” Johnny catches him by the shirttails.

With every bit of courage he can muster, Morrissey turns around and looks Johnny in the eyes. "I was just gonna give you some privacy," he says motioning toward the toilet.

"That was an excuse, Mozzer. I wanted to be able to talk to you without Mike and Andy around." Is Johnny scared?

"Oh? What about?" Moz's voice cracks.

Morrissey's cheeks are pink, his shirt is hanging open, his eyes are befuddled. He's so fucking handsome. Johnny can't wait any longer. He takes two steps, wraps an arm around the taller man and gently caresses the buzzed hair on the back of his neck. He pulls his face down for a kiss. It's just a smack on the lips, Moz is so stiff, so ill at ease.

Johnny Marr just kissed him! And he stood there like a statue. Oh god. Isn't this what he wanted? Yes, yes it is. But that kiss was awful. Morrissey knows he can do better. His arms hang limply at his sides. For once, he's not going think about what he is doing. He's just going to do it. He cradles Johnny's face with his hands and looks into his eyes. "You took me by surprise."

"Yeah?" Johnny's brown eyes are swimming with warmth. He always knew he loved Morrissey. He just assumed it was platonic. He cares for this man, feels protective of him, loves his humor and antics, admires his creativity and Mozzer understands him like no one else. Why not take it further?

"Can we try that again?" Morrissey says, never taking his blue eyes off the man in front of him. He's holding his face. He's stroking Johnny's cheek with his fingers. Johnny is looking at him in wonder. They both lean in together and when their lips connect this this time, it's far more than just a smack. Moz can feel Johnny's tongue tracing his upper lip. He opens his mouth and Johnny passionately deepens the kiss. Morrissey's hands slide from Johnny's face to his shoulders then down his back. Johnny's hands slide down Moz's body until they rest firmly on his arse. He squeezes and pulls the singer closer until their entire bodies are touching.

Morrissey moans, breaking the kiss.

"Fuck, Mozzer. I'm so glad you wear baggy-arse trousers."

"What? Why?"

"Because I'd have to fight people to keep them from doing what I'm doing now. If they saw what I feel." He punctuates his words with another squeeze and then he rolls his hips against Morrissey's front.

Morrissey isn't a sexual person. Not usually. But feeling Johnny against him and his hands on his arse, he thinks he could possibly become obsessed with sex. Sex with Johnny. Oh my god. The thought is terrifying. And delicious. But still terrifying. "We,we can't do this here. The others, they'll know something is going on, they'll hear."

Johnny captures Moz's mouth in another searing kiss. He knows the man is right, but this is so exciting and it feels so good. "You're right," he says moving one hand to Moz's face. He stares hungrily at the older man,"but when we get back home, Mozzer, I, I want to be with you, yeah?"

Morrissey gulps. Then he nods. They separate. Both know they need to calm down and exert some control. They need to act like their normal selves in front of Andy and Mike on the long van ride back to Manchester.


	6. Have Yourself A Merry Little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny shows Morrissey how lovely Christmas can be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. There is an attempt at smut. Happy Holidays and thank you for reading!

Morrissey is tidying his flat. It's cold and cheerless. Lots of bookcases and shelves filled with his beloved literature and record albums. The walls are blank canvases of white. The books and vinyl are the only personal touches. Otherwise, this could be anyone's flat. It never bothered him before, but Johnny is coming over today. 

The band arrived in Manchester in the wee hours of the morning. Johnny drove him home, as usual. The boy wanted to stay the night, but Morrissey felt too exhausted and hesitant. 

"It’s not that I don’t want you to stay,” he tried to explain, “I just need some time to prepare and rest.”

"Yeah, I want you well rested, Mozzer,” Johnny said huskily, kissing the singer’s graceful neck. I won’t be able to sleep tonight. I’ll be thinking about you.”

Morrissey took a step back from his beloved guitarist. “Maybe, maybe we should wait. Maybe this is too soon.” 

”If that’s what you want, love. But I still want to see you. Even if it’s just to watch a film.” Johnny dialed his passion down a few notches. He’d frightened him. He didn’t mean to come on so strong. Now that he discovered the extent of his feelings for his best friend, he didn’t want to waste another minute.

”That sounds nice, Johnny. I’d like that.” Moz was able to breathe again. He wanted Johnny. Badly. But he was afraid of disappointing him. Morrissey only had a few lovers in the past and those ended badly. He just couldn’t get in to the physical aspect of love. But he’d also never felt anything remotely like what he felt when he kissed Johnny. Maybe his problem wasn’t the physical, maybe it was the absence of love. “Can I kiss you again?” he shyly asked the black-haired boy.

Johnny nodded, never taking his eyes off Mozzer’s. He waited patiently for the singer to take control of this kiss. He did not want to terrify the poor man any further. He felt Moz’s slender fingers on his neck, slowly stroking his hair. Morrissey’s eyes closed as he bent to brush his lips against Johnny’s. Much to Johnny’s delight, Mozzer began licking and sucking on his bottom lip. He opened his mouth slightly and allowed Moz to explore with his tongue. He was hesitant at first, but what ever he was doing now was fantastic. Johnny let out a little moan as he felt Moz’s other arm glide under his shirt.

The boy’s muscles tensed as Moz caressed his back. Morrissey moaned against Johnny’s mouth. God, he felt wonderful. This felt wonderful. He pulled the boy closer as they continued their sloppy, open-mouthed kissing.

”Oh god, Johnny,” he groaned, planting kisses down the boy’s neck then forcing himself to pull away. “I feel,” he gasped, “I feel like I’m burning for you,” he finished, looking at Johnny’s messy black hair and swollen lips.

Johnny's eyes flared. "Yeah. I feel the same way, baby," and he captured Morrissey's perfectly shaped lips in a kiss full of promises of what was yet to come. 

"I’ve changed my mind. I want you to stay," Moz reconsidered. He was wrapped in Johnny's arms, his face nestled in the boy's hair. He carded his fingers through the silky black strands.

Johnny stepped away from Morrissey. "No, love. You were right. Later will be better. I've a few errands to run anyhow.”

Morrissey worried. "I'm sorry I turned you down earlier. I'm just, it's.."

"Shhhh," Johnny said, placing a finger over Moz's lips. "It's nothing you've said or done." His brown eyes shone with love and desire. "We only get one first time. Let me make it special. Please."

So in the dull, grey light of early afternoon, Morrissey is finding fault in his impersonal home, running the vacuum over the area rugs, washing dirty dishes, anything to make time pass quickly so he can lie in Johnny's arms. The phone rings and Morrissey jumps, startled by the shrillness.

"Hello," he says breathlessly into the receiver.

"Hello, love. I'm on my way over," Johnny's husky voice is music to his ears.

"Should I make us lunch?"

He hears laughter on the other end of the line. "Not necessary. I've been to the shop and picked up some vegan muffins, amongst other things," Johnny answers. 

"Alright then. See you shortly. Love," Morrissey blushes as he says the term of endearment. 

Johnny smiles into the receiver when he hears Moz's shy voice. "I think you're gonna like what I have planned."

"How could I not?" he says almost with a gasp. Moz has waited his whole life to be with someone like Johnny.

"Um. Remember how you wanted to slow things down last night?"

"Yeah," Moz says slowly.

"I took you for your word. We'll do a little scene setting first, right?"

"Scene setting?" What on earth does that mean?

"Yeah. It'll be fun! I'll see you in a bit!"

Morrissey is pacing on the sidewalk in front of his flat. The cold air seemed like a good idea to calm himself, but now an icy drizzle is falling from the sky. Just as he’s about to bemoan the ruined efforts on his hair, Johnny’s car arrives. Is that a tree tied to the top?

Johnny’s smile stretches from ear to ear. “Surprise! I bought us a Christmas tree to decorate!”

“But why?” Johnny knows his feelings on Christmas. How is this supposed to be romantic?

“Because Christmas is in a few days and we need to cheer up your flat.”

Morrissey sighs and turns his attention to the poor excuse of a tree atop Johnny’s car. “That’s the saddest tree I’ve ever seen. Is that why you chose it for me?”

“Maybe. But just you wait til we get it inside. We will make it the most handsome Christmas tree in all of Britain."

The flat smells of pine and popcorn once the two boys have unloaded the many boxes from the car and are in the full swing of preparing for Christmas. Morrissey finds he is enjoying popping corn and stringing garlands for the tree with Johnny next to him. The younger man's excitement over decorating the flat is infectious. He even brought over a Motown Christmas album. Moz is relaxed and happy. Imagine that.

"Alright, I need your help putting the garland on the tree."

"Are you too small to reach the top branches?" Morrissey jokes. The tree is well under 2 meters tall.

"No, you wank stain." Johnny elbows Mozza in the side, "I want to wrap it as gently as possible. It already lost so many needles when we added the lights." He points to the ring of pine needles littering the floor.

Once they've placed the popcorn garland, they open a box of ornaments and adorn the sturdier branches with the colorful baubles. There aren't that many, but the tree still shines with a holiday glow.

"We don't have a tree topper," Morrissey notes, "but it still looks quite handsome. Not at all the sad sapling you dragged in here."

Johnny's pale cheeks turn pink. "Actually, we do. Have a tree topper, that is."

The boy's blush is intriguing. "We do?"

"Yeah. Remember the day after Mike's party when I came over and it snowed?"

"That was Saturday. Of course I remember," he says haughtily. It's also the day his life turned upside down with the thought of losing their band, of losing Johnny.

"On my way home, I saw this in a shop window and I bought it." Johnny takes something wrapped in green tissue paper from a box. He hands the object to Morrissey.

Moz isn't sure what to think of this. Does this mean the boy was thinking of him even as he pondered his future with Angie? He carefully unwraps the object with utmost care, as if it might shatter in his hands. "Oh! It's beautiful!” It is a crystal and iron snowflake tree topper. When he looks toward Johnny, the boy steps closer. 

"So we can always remember our Christmas snow," he says softly, his brown eyes glowing amber. "Go on then. Place it on the tree!"

Mozzer thinks his heart may burst. This isn’t the joy of Christmas, this is the joy of Johnny.

Once the topper is in place, Johnny pulls Moz to him in a tight embrace. He begins to kiss the taller man's neck. His jumper is in the way. "Your jumper is really soft, but it needs to go," he whispers in Morrissey's ear.

"In here? Not, not the bedroom?" Morrissey stutters. His blue eyes are opened wide and blown with desire. Johnny is biting his neck, leaving bruises.

"Yeah, in here. I brought blankets with me," he says as he reaches under Moz's jumper and works the soft wool up the man's torso and over his head. He tosses the jumper to the side. "Don't move." He goes back to the small stack of boxes and pulls out a soft quilt. He carefully arranges it on the floor next to the Christmas tree. He turns off all the lights until the twinkling lights on the tree are the only things illuminated. "I want this to be incredible, unforgettable." And he wants it to be about more than just sex.

"It's beautiful, Johnny. But it would be unforgettable no matter what," Morrissey says with such fondness, “because it’s you.” He wants to pinch himself to make sure he's not dreaming. Because this is the stuff of dreams. "Can I, can I take your shirt off?"

The boy nods, his eyes never leaving the singer's face. He inhales deeply when he feels shaky fingers unbuttoning his shirt and tentative hands on his bare chest. Morrissey covers him with kisses. He shivers and groans. "You haven't finished with my shirt, love."

"Sorry. I was distracted." Morrissey straightens up to his full height and lightly brushes his fingers over Johnny's shoulders. His pale skin trembles at the touch. He is everything Moz ever imagined. He eases the shirt off the boy's lean yet muscular shoulders and tugs until his arms are free from the sleeves. They embrace, wrapping their arms around each other, kissing with warm, hungry mouths.

Johnny guides Moz down onto the blanket. He straddles the singer and sits in his lap. Moz's tongue is fantastic, stroking his own, lapping his lips, teasing at the roof of his mouth. He moans, breaking the kiss and moves down Morrissey's neck until he reaches his collarbone. He pauses here and sucks hard at the skin and is rewarded by a moan and a buck from Mozzer. He carefully pushes the singer until he's lying flat on his back. He can see dots of color reflected in the blue of Morrissey's eyes from the lights on the tree. He feels so much for the man under him, but he can't speak because Moz his thrusting his hips against him. He can only manage to sigh his name.

The weight of Johnny on top of him is almost enough to drive Morrissey over the edge. How embarrassing. He wants to be skin against skin before he loses his nerve or worse. His jeans feel tight even though they are two sizes too large. He moves his hands to undo Johnny's belt, hoping the lad will get the hint. He's not sure if he can tell the boy what he wants without losing this feeling of need, of lust. Words will just distract his body from what he wants.

"Are you sure you want to do that, love? Because I'm not sure if I can hold back once I feel you against me. You feel so fucking good like this." Johnny grinds against Morrissey hard. He's afraid he's moving too fast. Mozzer has always seemed so ambivalent toward sex, almost frightened. But not now. Now he's just as hungry for touch as Johnny. He knows Moz isn't a blushing virgin, but he's not sure exactly how much experience the man has. And Johnny's never been with a man before. Never wanted to be with a man before. But what he feels with Mozzer is a totally new experience.

"Oh god yes, Johnny. I've been dreaming about you, about this forever." Moz's hands quickly undo Johnny's trousers then move to his own. Johnny sits up and pulls off his trousers, underwear, everything in one swift motion. Mozzer freezes.

"What's wrong? Is it too much?" Johnny can feel the tension in his partner. He looks down, suddenly self-conscious.

"Can I," Morrissey swallows then tries again. "Can I touch you?"

Johnny's eyes are hooded with desire. "Yeah, if you want to."

"I want to very much," he says sitting up, running his hands over Johnny's thighs. He never thought he'd ever see the guitarist like this, naked in his lap, fully erect, for him. He slowly grasps the younger man's cock, marveling at his length, the velvety feel of his skin, the sound of his gasp.

"Careful, Mozzer. Don't make me embarrass myself."

Morrissey leans in and kisses Johnny while stroking his cock. He feels powerful. He feels attractive. He feels loved. Is it possible?

“Let me make you feel good, baby. I wanna show you how I feel.” Johnny’s moaning. Moz won’t answer, so he stops the man's hand. He brings Moz’s hand to his lips and kisses it. Then he undoes Morrissey’s trousers and slides them down his legs.

"You're going too slow," Moz growls, peeling his clothes from his body.

"Oh, fuck. You're, wow!" Johnny says, taking in Morrissey's naked form.

"Do you like it?" Moz shyly asks. He's pretty sure Johnny's response is positive, but he'd like to hear it affirmed.

"Yeah. Yeah, I like it a lot," Johnny's voice is husky as he crawls toward this amazing man.

They lie together on the blanket with the lights from the tree twinkling in the background. They kiss, and roll, and explore each other.

"I wanna make you mine, Mozzer. Will you let me? Will you let me make love to you?" Johnny says, raising himself off the trembling singer just enough to search his face.

Morrissey reaches up to gently trace the lines of his lover's jaw. "I'm yours, Johnny. Always." They kiss, but Johnny pulls back.

"You didn't answer me. I'll stop if you're not sure. But I want all of you. I want to be inside you, feel you all around me," he gasps out the last words.

"Oh, god, yes. Please. I want to feel you in me."

After fumbling for lube and a condom, Johnny begins to tease at Morrissey's entrance with his fingers. Then he shifts his hips so his cock is nudging the sensitive area. He stretches his partner with two fingers.

"Ah, oh that feels good, " Moz moans, slightly mortified that his cock is leaking so much precome between them.

"Yeah, yeah it does. Are you ready for me, baby?"

He swallows and nods, trying to stay relaxed but expecting pain.

Slowly and carefully Johnny eases himself in. The warmth is like a furnace. "Oh fuck, Mozzer. You're so tight. You're squeezing me so good," he moans.

The sensation is strange, slightly uncomfortable, but not out and out pain. Morrissey struggles to stay in the moment of what is happening, worry threatening to overtake pleasure. 

Johnny continues to ease his length in until his pelvis is resting against his partner's body. He wants to thrust like crazy but he doesn't want to hurt Mozzer. "Ahhhh. Oh fuck. Are you ok? I want to make you feel wonderful, baby"

Morrissey can't help but quiver with the tender look Johnny is giving him. They are together in every way possible. It's incredible. He wiggles his hips and feels so full with Johnny. "You can move. Please move. I want to feel you slide..Oh god!" Moz wails as Johnny begins to thrust, the younger man's grunts and groans of pleasure mingle with his own.

Momentarily closing his eyes, Johnny savors this feeling, this passion as he drives hard into his lover. This is better than anything he's ever done before. It feels so right. So good. He slows his pace, wanting to make it last, but Morrissey grabs his hips trying to push him deeper. "Shit, Mozzer. You're gonna make me cum. I wanna see you explode, Mozzer. I wanna feel you. Oh shit. Oh, Steven!"

"Johnny, oh, god, Johnny. Right there. Don't stop, please don't stop." Morrissey tumbles over the edge when Johnny hits something inside him. And the sound of his given name shouted from the lips of the man he loves makes his entire body clench, down to his toes.

"Oh fuck!" Johnny babbles and curses as his eyes roll back in his head. Nothing has ever felt like this. It’s all-consuming. He lies limply on top of Morrissey, twitching and breathing through the aftershocks, his belly smeared with his lover’s seed.He's too exhausted to open his eyes, let alone speak.

Morrissey wraps his arms around the smaller man on top of him. He has never felt like this in his life. He never dreamed such a feeling existed. It's one thing to love from afar. It's one-sided, but it can fill a gap in the heart. But to love like this, and be loved in return, there are no gaps between them, nothing but warmth, and pleasure and a sleepy satiation.

Johnny manages to open his eyes. As he rolls off his partner's body, he intertwines their fingers. "Morrissey?"

"Yes?" he answers, a goofy smile on his face as he brushes the black fringe out of Johnny eyes.

"I love you, you know," he says quietly, looking away.

"I certainly hope so! I hate to think you provide Christmas trees and amazing sex to everyone in your acquaintance!" he says, pretending to be indignant, but unable to keep the love out of his eyes or his voice. "I love you, too, if you haven't figured it out already."

As the two friends (now lovers) lazily move upstairs for a hot shower, both are too engrossed in each other to notice the fat, fluffy flakes of snow falling outdoors and the extra glimmer from the top of their Christmas tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was in response to Tumblr OTP Prompt 195  
> Character B falls into Character A,grabs A’s arse and is rendered speechless.
> 
> Also, Dec 19, 1983 was the first time ‘Barbarism Begins at Home’ was played live. It was a demo version with a slightly different bass line and lyrics. Concert took place at the Electric Ballroom in London.


End file.
